


Stairway Railings

by GalaxyAqua



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Japanese Rope Bondage, Kinbaku, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Shibari, Suspension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 13:51:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14045619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyAqua/pseuds/GalaxyAqua
Summary: The night is an enchanter. It casts spells that exchange vision for heart, rationality for recklessness, wakefulness for dreams — and perhaps that is why all the strongest feelings belong to the night.





	Stairway Railings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [illmasked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illmasked/gifts).



> if you’re looking for quality amaguujis, I highly recommend checking out the ones by [thegharden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegharden/pseuds/thegharden) if you haven’t already! they write amazing fics.

The night is an enchanter. It casts spells that exchange vision for heart, rationality for recklessness, wakefulness for dreams — and perhaps that is why all the strongest feelings belong to the night.

Why the slightest burden can hold the weight of the world, why anything can be turned into poetry, why the thoughts the day keeps at bay always return with a vengeance. Why there’s no fighting them when they do.

Perhaps, it is why Rantarou’s mind feels like it’s under a spell. A nebulous, swirling haze where every movement is heavy; an inescapable stream of consciousness ringing with truths he’d much rather avoid.

“You care too little to care too much.” It tells him. “You’re hard to keep, so you’re hard to love.”

And, at the root of it all, it _is_ his fault.

It was his own adventurous curiosity and recklessness that had led him down this path; led him in blind faith into the arms of the very embodiment of the night — for could Korekiyo be anything but an enchanter?

He pulls Rantarou in like a moth to a flame, lulling him into a sense of security that could sting if he’s not careful. Luring him into a fixation he can’t let go of, into a sickly fascination with the way the world looks through attentive golden eyes. An aching want to hear all the tales people shy away from, lacing the delighted tone of the one they call a freak. The one that stands out just a little too much, because there’s something not quite normal about the way Korekiyo presents himself.

Something dangerous.

But Rantarou’s an adventurer, always actively seeking danger, finding comfort in the unpredictable, and this is where they collide.

Where he plunges in headfirst into treacherous waters. Where he forgets to breathe, so caught up in this ethereal state of being, and the consequences have begun to haunt him relentlessly.

Where Rantarou finds himself living amidst a ghost story, woven lovingly by the night.

Could it be anything else when he sleeps on the scattered moonlight beside a shadow that vanishes in the mornings, leaving not a crease in the bed sheets or any reminder of his existence? Could it be anything else, when Korekiyo slips in and out of his life as he pleases, yet lingers in his mind long after he’s gone?

It’s a ravenous haunting, exhausting him of logical reasoning – not that he’s ever been able to think straight around Korekiyo anyway – and that’s why he’s still undoing himself in front of him whenever they meet, addicted to a feeling he refuses to call love.

If he fell in love, it would be over.

Because when they set their boundaries, he promised he wouldn’t. He promised Korekiyo — none of this was to be out of love. He had the complete intention to keep it that way.

For Korekiyo will not ever give him his heart, and that is a fact.

One he’s never more aware of than when the anthropologist’s piercing gaze strikes him right through the chest, threatening to shred his resolve to pieces.

He’s falling apart, sure, but he won’t fall in love.

Not with his stupidly gorgeous friend, not with the way he can talk to Rantarou for hours on end, not with the way he says the most curious things. Not with the way he treats every gift Rantarou gives him with the utmost reverence, not with the way he’s so well-kept yet such a mess at the same time.

Not with how neatly he unfolds Rantarou’s covers like he’s opening a map. Not with how he kneels to arrange him just the way he wants, pinning his wrists, slipping between his bare thighs and leaning down to kiss him through his mask, the zipper harsh against his lips.

No, Rantarou isn’t in love but he is enraptured by him, by the curve of his body as he presses down against his own and steals his breath away. By the curtain of hair that tickles his chest as they part, sliding off in rivers to reveal Korekiyo’s eyes. They shine like liquid gold.

He’s reactive to him, sensitive to every touch and painfully aroused by the steady rock of hips that grind against him, enough that he whines at the loss of contact before wallowing silently in embarrassment.

“Kukuku… incredible… it doesn’t take much to rile you at all, does it?” Korekiyo asks, sounding especially amused. “Though that weakness of yours is beautiful, too. Can you show me another face, I wonder? Will you do that for me, Rantarou?”

He flushes with a heat he can’t subdue when Korekiyo dips his fingers below his navel and strokes him, using his other hand to pry Rantarou’s mouth open so he can’t bite back the shuddering moans.

“A-ah, please,” he whimpers. “Please, please…”

“Please, what?” Korekiyo takes these moments unfairly calmly, analytical almost, as though making Rantarou beg for him was naught but a learning experience.

“Please, just — I want —”

The anthropologist looks at him like he’s a language to be dissected, as though his every sound formed a new kind of word. A new kind of vocabulary he is determined to memorize thoroughly.

“Go on. Tell me what it is you want. Though I can’t guarantee I will give it to you.”

“I want…” He’s so close that their breaths would mingle as clouds if the air were colder. “I want you to take me.”

“Hm? Take you where?”

“You —” he groans. “You _know_ what I mean…”

Korekiyo does, of course, but he finds pleasure in prolonging it, trying to stir various reactions out of Rantarou for his own self-satisfaction. His intense desire to learn everything about him, behind a gaze that looks nothing short of reverent when Rantarou fall apart under his palms.

His wonderment makes Rantarou so, so weak.

He’s not falling for him, not stumbling one bit, he reassures himself. Not even when his pulse is pounding in his ears and he’s shivering into the sheets, crying desperately for release.

It’s exploration, investigation, and hunger for the unknown that draws him in; not the voice that whispers so sweetly, not the admiring gaze or the hands that make him feel like home.

It’s intellectual stimulus, an adventure he can embark on nowhere else, where Korekiyo takes him by the chin and unravels his composure with every touch. Where every brush against his skin feels like fire and ice at once, where he’s artfully deconstructed and soothed by foreign tongues, caressed carefully until his vision goes white.

He wants to go places he’s never been, feel things he’s never felt, shown sights he’d never see alone.

And he could have all of it, every desire assuaged – under only one condition, defined on the first night, the very first enchanter that had taken them hostage — being that he never falls in love.

So he won’t.

 

* * *

 

He’s not in love, then, he’s just another casual fuck that flies off like a dandelion seed at the slightest breeze because he’s not attached to anyone and this is how he’s going to prove it.

Across the oceans, he is free.

But there are moments where he thinks a little too hard, and he’ll call his friend from a dingy phone booth miles and miles away, and Korekiyo will sound half-asleep as he softly complains about Rantarou forgetting how to read time zones and forgetting to charge his phone and they’ll talk and talk until Rantarou’s out of loose change and ways to say ‘I miss you’ without voicing the words directly.

Not because he can’t bear the thought of Korekiyo replacing him while he’s gone, or because he can’t help but wonder if maybe all that interest he showed in Rantarou was purely physical from the start and he shouldn’t have let his guard down, shouldn’t have let him in.

Yet his doubts disappear when Korekiyo greets him at the airport arrival zone with an unsuppressable energy to his gait, and Rantarou runs down the linoleum to hug him tightly, laughing into the crook of his neck.

“God, it feels like I haven’t seen you in ages,” he says, pulling back to straighten Korekiyo’s turtleneck, which he had rumpled with the force of his hug.

Korekiyo tips his head at him, subconsciously leaning into his touch. “Did you have an enjoyable trip?”

“Oh yeah, it was amazing.” Rantarou’s so giddy to see him again that all the words come tumbling without hesitation. “There was this giant abandoned fort hidden just up the side of this mountain I went to, and it had such an incredible view! The whole thing was set up like a trap, too. They had a lighthouse on a cliff façade, and I’m sure their enemies wouldn’t have expected them to fight back at all. Much more sophisticated than I expected. And, god, I went to the cultural village you recommended and it was _so_ gorgeous, the people there were so polite and I learned so much.”

“Aahh, yes! I’m glad you enjoyed it, it’s truly a pleasant experience, no? The way they dance is also particularly mesmerizing, calling the sun to rise and to sleep… it is such a joyous display.” Korekiyo says, eyes bright as he crosses his hands over his chest.

“Yes! It’s stunning. If I stayed longer, I would have tried learning it. Did you manage to try the ropeway over the lake when you went?”

“That I did not, how was it? Ah, wait, perhaps we shouldn’t loiter… tell me about it in the car.”

So Rantarou does, in a frantic retelling of his journey that spans the whole car ride back, and he’s still raving about it while he’s in the shower — while Korekiyo leans outside the bathroom door and listens to him talk.

He shrieks in surprise as Rantarou emerges and tackles him with a kiss, but Rantarou’s feelings are such a damn blur at this point that he doesn’t remind himself that they’re just friends, and they’re not in love. He’s happy, that’s all it is.

And it’s just so gratifying to have Korekiyo draped over his bed, spidery limbs and gorgeous hair spilling like water over the mattress.

Rantarou chains him up – with his eager consent, of course – and kisses every inch of him like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, but he’s really not _in love_. He can’t be.

 

* * *

 

When he’s in the area, it’s become habit for Korekiyo to invite him over for seemingly no reason at all, and Rantarou doesn’t think before he accepts anymore.

He wonders when it was that he became so quick to follow the anthropologist’s whims, and why it always feels strangely, achingly intimate to lie bare across his sheets in a room that smells just like him.

A thick wooden rig looms over him, half an archway of sorts, and Rantarou would have teased Korekiyo, just a little bit, about his odd interior design choices if he wasn’t painfully aware of what that rig is going to be used for.

“I see you’ve redecorated. Nice place,” Rantarou breathes, far too casually as Korekiyo pulls him into a standing position, skillfully looping red ropes around his body, cold fingers dancing across his ribs and tightening the knots with a mesmeric grace.

“I am pleased to hear you say so.” The hand that slips beneath his arms and around his chest is gentle, and Rantarou shivers despite himself. He watches with interest as Korekiyo threads the ropes into an intricate harness — ignoring the way his heart hammers at every brush of his hands against his skin.

“Do you keep all your old documents in here?” He asks, trying not to let his nerves get to him.

Korekiyo nods, still looking deeply focused as he answers, “That, and an array of other things. I have amassed quite the collection on my travels.”

“Ha, you’re telling me. Have you seen all the stuff I’m hoarding in my closet?”

Korekiyo’s eyes narrow slyly as he tilts his head towards a ceramic doll on the shelf. “Indeed. I took that very doll from your closet.”

“Wha – That’s where it went!” Rantarou sputters. His gaze sweeps over the doll before flicking back to Korekiyo. “Why didn’t you ask first?”

“Interesting that you ask that question… you don’t seem to ask when you take my coats and conveniently decide not to return them.”  

“Alright, I’ll give you that one,” he says, heat creeping up his neck. “But in my defense, your neighborhood is freezing. No wonder you’re bundled up all the time.”

“I don’t mind the cold so much, it is far easier to wear more clothing than it is to remove layers you cannot.” Korekiyo pulls the ropes taut, slowing in his tying to ask, “Are you alright?”

“Mm,” he nods. He’s caught in a web of sorts, he realizes, a geometric display that blooms from the centre of his chest outwards, and he’s enamored by it, by the way it streaks across his body and by the way Korekiyo manoeuvres through it, effectively trapping him and rendering him powerless.

“In words, Rantarou.”

“Ah, yeah! Yeah, I’m good.” He confirms, cursing the crack in his voice. “This is just a weird position to be in. Like, I can’t really move at all.”

“Do not fret.” Korekiyo murmurs, ducking down and prodding gently at his inner thigh, in the tender strip of skin peeking out between coils of rope. “You will see why you are secured like that soon enough. The aesthetics of kinbaku are important — a mix of vulnerability and strength, working in tandem with one another. While it is tempting to struggle, you must understand that you are bound because you are perceived as the dangerous one. The origins of this art lies in the binding of outlaws and bandits, in a manner of which they cannot escape and cause harm to others, hence the intricacy of the knots.”

“Oh? Hah, cool,” His breath hitches as Korekiyo flicks the rope, testing its security, perhaps, and sending a jolt up Rantarou’s leg.

“Believe the ropes to be an extension of me, if you will.” He starts to say, running his fingers over the twists and fastenings to check that they’re all done correctly — he seems oblivious to the way the adventurer flushes, the sensation of being bound and touched all over striking a match in his stomach. “If you need me to stop, you can tell me. Is that clear?”

“Y-yeah,” Rantarou replies. “Just like usual. Don’t worry about it.”

Korekiyo reaches up and pulls the ends of the ropes through a series of rings and carabiners on the rig, looking very much in his element as he tugs on them with a skilled eye. The final knots are looped through and around the harness, trailing up the lines of hemp that connect Rantarou to the rig.

“I’m going to suspend you now, okay?”

“Ah, go for it.”

Korekiyo’s fingers slide up the buzzed line at the back of Rantarou’s neck, and forces him to face the floor. “Down.”

With a shove, he falls forward onto his knees. The lurch knocks the air out of him, then he’s yanked upwards by his right leg — caught by his upper body harness which supports him in the lift, inches away from smashing his head into the boards below. Every point of contact feels like it’s burning at once, each lick of rope straining to keep him aloft, the friction hot against his skin.

And it’s electrifying.

He is suddenly all too aware of the hardness of his cock, erection throbbing between the ropes that keep his legs apart.

“You are such a beautiful sight,” Korekiyo says with a cunning murmur, pulling Rantarou closer by the back of the harness and pressing his forehead against his.

His free hand slinks up the back of his neck again, but this time he carefully angles Rantarou’s head towards him, before covering his eyes with that same hand so he can drop the mask and kiss him.

Rantarou kisses him with an insatiable hunger. It’s part-ecstasy part-agony — Korekiyo rarely takes off his mask for anything, but he seems to be fine with it when Rantarou isn’t looking at him, which is frustrating as hell. But he’ll take a kiss any day, any moment he can, any second.

So caught up in the feeling, he doesn’t anticipate the slow descent as Korekiyo’s grip on the harness is released. His hand glides to take hold of Rantarou’s erection instead, thumbing the slit and making him tremble as Korekiyo swallows his moans, entirely in control even though he’s the one that’s bent beneath him.

“Submit to me,” he whispers into Rantarou’s mouth. “Surrender yourself…”

Rantarou gasps, unable to voice a coherent response as Korekiyo traces the curve of his dick, tantalizingly slowly, smile wry against his lips.

“That’s right… reveal everything to me.”

“Ah, stop teasing me already,” Rantarou grinds against his hand, thrumming with heat as he tries in vain to push for touch, but the ropes hold him back and it’s … actually kind of hot.

He can’t do anything of his own accord, completely at Korekiyo’s mercy, and he’s most definitely unable to do anything as Korekiyo slips under him to grab the cords wrapping his hip bones and takes his dick into his mouth.

“Shit!” Rantarou shouts. “Warn me before you do that…!”

The vibration of his chuckle is heaven and hell at the same time. Rantarou keens at the feeling, and not because he so desperately wants to know what kind of expression Korekiyo is making as he slides his tongue up his length.

For the first time, he can’t do a thing as the pleasure courses through him, aided by the ties that keep him from moving out of place. He’s helpless to the onslaught and the tension is building and building in his stomach with a ferocity he can’t subdue.

For the first time, Rantarou is scared he’ll let slip something he might regret.

For the first time, he can’t hold back the “I _love_ you,” that rips from his lips, tears beading like crystals in the corners of his eyes.

Korekiyo trails back up to shush him, dragging a thin finger over Rantarou’s mouth, “So this is how you are unravelling tonight… yes, continue to bear your heart to me like this. Such vulnerability is truly beautiful! Tell me, Rantarou,” his voice dips low. “Who are you envisioning as we play this game? Will you reveal your deepest secrets to me, I wonder…”

“ _Only you,”_ Rantarou whispers hoarsely. “This isn’t a game. I love you so much it hurts.”

Korekiyo laughs, a dry huff of air as the thrill seeps into his tone, “Ahh! You are so _fascinating!_ Such _desperation!_ Please, do enlighten me, who stars in this fantasy of yours? Shall I try acting them out for you? Perhaps there is even more to be seen of this…” he looks euphoric. “... torturous love of yours.”

Rantarou’s chest is heaving, and there’s nothing more he wants than to insist that he’s not lying or hoping or fantasizing, but he doesn’t. Fear grips him — if he admits the truth, will all of this be over? Will Korekiyo still spend evenings telling him folklore stories, indulging in his voracious curiosity, and sharing his expansive expertise?

He has a choice to make and not much time to do so.

He chooses silence.

“You appear troubled, Rantarou.” Korekiyo remarks with an air of intrigue. “Shall I assist you with that? A thorough examination of your emotions may do you some good.”

“Please, just, touch me already,” he breathes. His cock is flushed and wet, still throbbing from the earlier stimulation. “Let me… finish… and then you can ask your questions…”

Korekiyo chooses then to pull away, and Rantarou can’t watch him as his bangs fall over his face, and he doesn’t have the hands to brush them back. It’s agonizing, dangling there in submission, waiting for his next move.

There’s a quick snap of plastic behind him, and he blinks hazily at the sound, not quite sure how much longer he’s going to last like this.

Korekiyo returns having wet his fingers with lube, dancing them tantalizingly down the adventurer’s spine, and sliding them over the ring of his entrance. It’s cold, and the sensation is just another extreme on top of the binds, but Rantarou hasn’t the fist or the pillows to muffle his curses with when a finger slides into him, straight through to knuckle.

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much, won’t you?” Korekiyo asks faintly, voice silky smooth.

“Mm, fuck…” Rantarou writhes, back arching as he strains against the ropes, red lines digging into his skin. “Y-yeah… count on it…”

His eyes gleam as he pushes another finger in, and even though Rantarou’s anticipated it, he jerks violently, and Korekiyo steadies him with his free hand. It trails down to support the underside of his hips, and he waits until Rantarou catches his breath before his fingers move, feeling and curling inside of him. He hits a point that makes Rantarou tense fiercely, and the sensation that spikes through him is blinding. The sound that leaves his throat is feral.

Korekiyo makes a satisfied hum, and his fingers retract to press back in harder, drive back in deeper, and Rantarou tries not to shout. He feels like he’s burning, flushed from head to toe, and every push against his prostate has him twisting viciously in his restraints.

The overstimulation is thrusting him closer and closer to the edge, merciless and rough, leaving his legs numb and his chest fighting the ropes for air.

Then suddenly, Rantarou tips forward, crying out as Korekiyo withdraws his fingers without warning.  It’s a cruel move, and Rantarou sways slightly in disbelief — left helpless, abandoned on the brink of orgasm, and unable to release himself. It aches, he’s so close, so close to finishing, and yet he feels so empty all of a sudden, and it’s torture.

“You’ve been so good,” Korekiyo says, taunting him with the movements of his hands along the ropes — hovering above his skin with enough pressure for him to feel it but not quite meeting him. “So good for me. Always so obedient. Patient… attentive…”

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Rantarou hisses, struggling in the bindings. His lower region is screaming to be touched again, and there’s nothing he can do about it. “Ahh, fuck… you… fuck you…”

“You’re certainly not in any position to do so,” Korekiyo tells him, looking far too delighted to have left him hanging. “You’re so beautiful, Rantarou, look at you… such anguish in your eyes… such phenomenal beauty…”

“Please, don’t, not right now, just touch me,” he groans. “Please, I can’t take this, I have to have your hands on me, in me, whatever, just, do something… please…”

“Do you have to or do you want to?”

“ _Korekiyo Shinguuji._ Stop playing with me. Finish what you started.” his voice leaves him as a guttural growl, and he’s mortified about getting so worked up until he realizes it has been drastically effective.

Korekiyo is left at a loss for words, looking every bit too embarrassed to be the one scolded in this situation, as he silently dips back under him, the heat from his cheeks radiating against Rantarou’s stomach. He lubes up his fingers and wastes no time dragging them down his length in fastidious strokes, and ties it in with an oddly gentle kiss to his inner thigh.

Already close, it takes almost no time for Rantarou to come, jerking in Korekiyo’s touch and feeling the restraints tighten with the sudden movement, constricting the curve of his body as he rides through the sensation. With a dizzying intensity, it banishes every coherent thought from his mind.

The feeling lingers, pounding through his veins, lighting his skin with sparks of overwhelming pleasure.

Korekiyo moves to kneel by his head, caressing it as he exhales deeply, completely blissed out. He sways a little lifelessly, still constricted by the bindings but exhausted enough that he doesn’t care. There’ll be marks on his skin, but they’ll fade.

Then he remembers. He had been the focus the whole time, but he’s perfectly willing to return the favor. In a feasible way, of course, because… he’s not exactly capable of much at the moment.

“Do you —” his eyes flicker down to Korekiyo’s slacks, which are looking to be uncomfortably tight, particularly with the way he’s pressing his legs together. “Want me to take care of that for you?”

Sometimes, however, Korekiyo isn’t keen on having the attention thrown onto him, and this is one of those times, because he shakes his head, looking a little flustered. His words come out more ragged than usual. “I’ll… ah… take care of it later. Would you like to come down now? Have you lost all feeling in your legs?”

“Mmh, now that you mention it…” Rantarou nods weakly, and shudders as he’s lowered to the ground, almost forgetting what it felt like to touch the earth again. Korekiyo sweeps his fingers through Rantarou’s sweat-soaked hair, clearing his vision and giving him a moment to orient himself before he quickly starts loosening the twists and ties, releasing the adventurer from his bindings.

“Oh,” Rantarou breathes, drinking in the air with a dry throat. “That was… wow. Fuck me.”

“I don’t think so,” Korekiyo says, sounding amused by the statement. “You are already well spent. Any more and I fear I may break you in two. I do not seek to harm you,” his touch is gentle as he slowly unties the chest harness. “Kinbaku is a practice which ultimately aims to pleasure, not to cause injury. The pain of being bound is more to serve an emotional effect.”

“I trust you.” The adventurer replies quietly, raising his arm so Korekiyo can slip him out of the coil of rope.

“I can see that,” he slides the red cord through a loosened loop, and the rest of the display unfurls. “To which I will say that it pleases me greatly that you do.”

Once free of the bindings, Rantarou sits up, and Korekiyo bundles the rope and tosses it aside, reaching over to pull pillows from the bed and settle him comfortably amongst them. His fingers flit back across Rantarou’s skin, and he starts to massage the points where the rope marks are the reddest. Rantarou’s still in a bit of a daze, but he offers him a tired smile in response.

Korekiyo asks, “Would you like something to drink?”

“Mm, yeah, but don’t go out of your way.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Give me a moment,” His hands leave him on a quest to retrieve the water bottles from the bedside table. He knocks one of them against Rantarou’s temple when he returns, the coolness of the plastic making him sigh with relief.

“Ah, thanks,” he takes the bottle with shaky hands and downs the water in one go. He parts with the bottle on a yawn, capping it and placing it on the floor beside him. “What time’s the next train?”

“The next…? I hope you realize that you can stay the night if you wish,” Korekiyo says, looking slightly uneasy. “I would not be so cruel as to kick you out after that.”

“It’s fine,” Rantarou replies, chest tight as he’s suddenly reminded of how nice it would be to stay. How terrible it would be for his heart. If he stayed, he might not have the will to leave, and that scares him more than anything. “I have another flight tomorrow morning.”

“So soon? Though I suppose it is only in your nature to be constantly on the move.” Korekiyo rests his chin on his palm, expression ever intrigued. “Where are you headed this time?”

“Central America. Costa Rica, to be specific.”

“Quite the journey.” He tips his head and there’s a smile in his gaze. “Travel safely.”

“Haha, thanks.” Rantarou stretches and heaves himself off of the nest of pillows with great effort, hoping to at least make a dignified exit. It’s only natural, then, that he stumbles, and Korekiyo blinks at him.

“Are you sure you’re able to head out like that? It would really not trouble me at all if you stayed.”

“It’s okay, really.” He replies. “I appreciate it though.”

“What if you just took a short nap? I can wake you for the midnight train.”

It’s a tantalizing offer, and Rantarou relents far too easily, too tired to argue over it.

“A quick nap then.” He agrees, blaming himself for being far too weak to this guy — as if that was news to anyone.

And he must have been more tired than he thought, because when his head hits the pillows, he’s out like a light.

 

* * *

 

An hour or so later, he wakes to find that Korekiyo had fallen asleep at the desk, and he can’t help but smile and shake his head.

The anthropologist is in a new set of clothes, probably silk by the look of it, and looking far too fancy to be sleeping hunched over like that, but it’s cute, in a way.

The clock above the desk reads half past eleven, and Rantarou yawns as he pads towards his slumbering friend, peeling the blanket off the bed and draping it over his still form.

“Sleep tight, sweetheart,” he murmurs, before grabbing his clothes and quietly exiting the room. His limbs are heavy as he pushes onward into the night.

For the first time, Rantarou knows what it feels like to leave in the dark just as Korekiyo had many times before, and hopes in desperation that his absence doesn’t haunt him the same way.

Hoping for otherwise would be more dangerous than he’s willing to risk.

 

* * *

 

Being in one place for too long is discomforting for Rantarou – he’d rather be constantly on the move, flitting from place to place, never stopping for more than a moment.

Yet somehow, even as faces change and he flies and lands in a boundless number of locations, he dreams of being with Korekiyo and it weighs heavy in his chest.

He’s lost.

Lost inside his own skin, yearning for direction, and no matter where he goes, he’s still feels like he’s wandering restlessly because he’s got too many feelings and he doesn’t know what to do with them.

He dreams of ghost stories that don’t end in tragedy. Dreams of pale skin and dark hair and serpent-like eyes, dreams of holding Korekiyo snug against his chest, rolled tight under the blankets the way he knows that he likes.

He dreams of sleepy mornings, and warm afternoons fighting over the air conditioning remote. Of seeing mystical sights together instead of relaying them through speech, of his long legs draped across Rantarou’s lap, spindly fingers tugging on his hair. Of comfortable silences and lengthy conversations, of stolen kisses and fervent touches.

Of being pushed down, bound, and _loved_ , as if every utterance of how beautiful he finds him is because it’s Rantarou alone and not because every damn human is beautiful in Korekiyo’s eyes — god, he wishes but that’s all they are. Wishes.

How many birthday candles and fallen eyelashes and shooting stars would it take to grant these wishes, he wonders, how many wishing fountains and wishing wells would give him the confidence to do something? Change something?

How many times can he keep swallowing the words, convincing himself that what they have is enough?

How many times can he imagine confronting the feelings that haunt him until he finally can’t take it anymore and makes it a reality?

It’s no big deal, he tells himself. He skims stones across the lakeshore and wonders why he’s tearing himself up over this.

It’s infatuation, it’ll pass. He’ll get over it. He will.

It’s not that serious.

But then why does his happiness bloom so fiercely and open so rapidly like a moonflower under darkness whenever they reunite? Why doesn’t he stop himself from the adoration, the compulsiveness that leads him to grab Korekiyo, unzip his mask and kiss him the moment the door shuts behind them?

He gasps when Rantarou’s lips meet his, pushing hard through the opening of the fabric mask with the ridges of the zipper digging into their skin — yet neither seem to care. The back of his head meets the wall with a thud, and he barely has the time to process this before Rantarou is pressing against him, smiling against his mouth.

He effectively pins him to the wall, and bares his teeth as he deepens the kiss with a low hum rising at the back of his throat. Korekiyo barely has time for air between the hands now cradling his head and his lipstick making a mess of Rantarou’s lips, and it’s only when Rantarou rocks back to observe his expression does he find the opportunity to speak.

“Goodness, you’re _carnivorous_ today,” he breathes out, forcing his hand between them before Rantarou can cut him off again. His face is bright red. “What on earth happened to you on this trip?”

“Can’t I just be happy to see you?”

Korekiyo looks too frazzled to come up with a suitable response, and it’s a new look on him, one that Rantarou doesn’t dwell too hard on lest he let it shatter the last of his emotional resistance.

“Aaah…” he trembles. “You are… happy? To see me?”

Rantarou smiles, “Obviously.”

“… I … I see… that’s so… I’m so glad. Well, ah, shall we cover the,” Korekiyo embraces himself awkwardly, eyes still wide as he swiftly changes the topic. “The history of Albania today?”

“Sure,” Rantarou says. “We never got around to talking about all the European countries last time, and Albania’s just as good a place as any to start.”

He wants to traverse the world, but he also wants to stay right here, and it’s something he’s never had to deal with so he crams the feeling into the space beneath his ribs, locks it up and throws away the key.

Korekiyo rezips his mask and prattles on about European history, a lightness easing over him as he immerses back into his realm of interest with radiance in his features and Rantarou watches, thinking _god, I’ve never loved anybody more._

 

* * *

 

The truth terrifies him, but he can’t ignore it forever.

He is in love with Korekiyo. Deeply. Badly.

The kind of love that would swear to hold him through the dark times and laugh with him in the light. The kind that doesn’t want to leave his side when he departs, the kind that find the weirdest things charming about him. The kind that would listen no matter how long he talks, because there’s nothing quite like a conversation that starts with makeup and ends with funeral rites, and honestly, he’d listen even if Korekiyo was talking about the cultural significance of a slab of concrete, he’d hang onto every damn word.

His soul aches with it, his very skeleton shakes — but Rantarou has fears not even the haunting can surpass; fears of loving and losing and fucking up so badly that everything he knows falls to pieces.

He needs to escape.

The first exit would to be to silently fall out of love, maybe, think about Korekiyo until he’s sick of him, until he wants nothing to do with him anymore or until ‘just friends’ sounds like music to his ears.

Yet he can’t. He can’t manage to think about him without it being fond, not when he’s wearing his jacket and buying him souvenirs, and sending him the stunning photos he’s taken which are mostly ignored in favor of a dry text back, reading ‘It looks like some green-headed thief stole my clothes again. You should be ashamed of yourself’.

Not when his only reply to that is, ‘but it’s like you’re here with me’.

Not when he can’t swallow his smile as Korekiyo calls to ask if he’s in town, and he puts effort into looking nice when all they’re doing is going out for coffee to catch up; aided by the backdrop of drizzling rain.

“It doesn’t look like it will let up soon,” Korekiyo observes, swirling the spoon in his mug. “Though, that being said, rain is not always our enemy. We would not flourish in a world without it.”

“Right. There’s good and bad sides to everything, huh?” Rantarou hums, taking a sip of his coffee.

“You are correct, of course. Though the ‘good’ and ‘bad’ are subjective, it is like saying a coin has only two sides — then what do you call the outer rim of a coin? Perhaps there are two primary sides, but then many much smaller sides that line the edges, like they do a coin.”

“While that is true, couldn’t the rim of a coin be one long continuous face?”

“Aah, an infinite side!” Korekiyo chimes enthusiastically. “The concept of infinity is such a curious one, don’t you think? Human lives are limited in both time and space, and yet humanity still has hopes for infinity; seeking immortality, countless tales of time travel, attempts to prove the existence of the multiverse… ah, well, that is a long string of conversation on its own, so perhaps I will save it for another time. Do you have places to be after this? Shall I lend you an umbrella?”

“No, please, tell me about it. Let’s talk until the rain lets up.” Rantarou pauses for a moment. “Would it be okay if I braided your hair? I kind of want to do something with my hands, since they’re getting cold.”

_And your hair is beautiful_ , he doesn’t say.

“I suppose you may, but I don’t have any hair elastics on hand.” He looks genuinely troubled by the matter.

“It’s fine, just take it back out after, no big deal.”

“But if you’re putting your time into it,” he says. “It would be a waste to take it out right after.” He glances at the counter. “They have rubber bands. We could ask for some.”

“Absolutely not.” Rantarou says. “First of all, you should know better than to tie your hair with rubber bands. And second of all — sunk cost fallacy. You end up choosing a less than desirable outcome because it’d be a waste of the time and effort you initially spent doing something. Yet it means that you end up worse off than if you had chosen to abandon it entirely.”

Korekiyo looks surprised. “You… remembered what I taught you.”

“I do listen to you, you know,” Rantarou grins, reaching forward to flick him in the forehead. “And you’re always falling victim to it. How could I not remember? One time we sat through three hours of a movie you completely despised just because you thought it’d be a waste of money if we left.”

“The movie wasn’t that terrible,” he reasons.

“You _hated_ it.”

“It was poorly paced, but the concept was intriguing. Even though it technically wasn’t a new idea and there are far more believable dystopian settings out there, it had potential to turn around… and the characters had some sort of understandable motivation?”

Rantarou smiles at him.

“... alright, it was a withering disappointment. Here you go,” He diverts Rantarou’s attention by pulling his long hair forward and placing it into the adventurer’s delighted palms. “Shall I turn around?”

“No, stay, it’s fine,” he cards his fingers through the sleek locks, marvelling at how smoothly his fingertips glide. “I’ll give you a loose side braid.”

_I don’t want you to take your eyes off of me,_ he doesn’t say.

“Now… where were we?”

“Limitless possibilities.” Rantarou answers. “The multiverse.”

“Ah, yes. The multiverse,” Korekiyo echoes with fascination. “Do you believe there are worlds other than our own, Rantarou?”

“Well, I don’t see why not.”

“Kukuku… you are right, the question is not “why” but “why not”? Why can’t our choices all branch into separate universes? How drastically could a single choice change the state of a world? That is something I have yet to learn.”

“Heh, maybe you learnt about it in another universe.”

His mouth is covered but Korekiyo looks like he’s smiling over the mug. “Maybe so.”

Their words swing back and forth in a peaceful rally until the sky lifts its grief and the rain ceases. With polite nods at the barista, they knock their empty cups together and exit the coffee shop to greet the cool air outside.

“Hey, thanks for inviting me out. I had fun today,” Rantarou says lightly.

“As did I,” Korekiyo’s gaze is bright, shimmering with the reflection of the cloudy sky above them. “Spending time with you is of great value to me.”

“Yeah?”

“Hm? Do you doubt that?”

“Oh, no,” he pockets his hands. “I just didn’t expect you to suddenly be so honest with me. It makes me happy.”

“I see. Then, perhaps it would be worth doing more often,” Korekiyo replies thoughtfully. “I hope you can be continue to be honest with me, too.”

“Of course,” Rantarou says. “Honesty is important.”

They bid each other farewell at the street corner, and Rantarou swallows the guilt that rises in his throat, threatening to spill.

 

* * *

 

Maybe he can just pretend they’re in love, and it won’t feel like running away. He won’t have to face the rejection, he’ll prolong an inevitable heartbreak.

He’ll still have the freedom he wants, he’ll still have the company he wants, and none of the dread of endings and breakups and fights that haven’t happened yet.

It’s easier that way. To bypass the commitment, to stay free as he travels and travels —

“Then why do you come back at all?”

Rantarou surveys his reflection, looking more lost than ever and chooses not to answer. He knows why, loathes why, and he’s going to pretend they’re in love like it’s a spell they’re under. He’s going to pretend they could be something so much more than this.

He’ll fling his arms around Korekiyo’s neck and kiss him all over his beautiful face and pretend that what they have is love.

Until the night has mercy and he won’t want to pretend anymore.

 

**Author's Note:**

> hey, there's now a sequel/companion fic to this in Korekiyo's pov which you can check out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16175660)!


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